Life's Autumn

I got up this morning, like any good rooster, to crow and watch Lance Armstrong's comeback in the Tour de France. Getting up on less than three hours sleep gets harder as the years pass, my mind and body want to linger longer on the goose down, but I forge forward and will my self downstairs to the television room. Lance is on. I am loyal.

The race is leaving France and entering the Swiss Alps as I rub the sleep away. The first thing I notice is Lance is not at the front, but lingering at the rear of the peloton. This is not like him. His motis operandi is to steer clear of danger and hang around the front end of the peloton surrounded by his teammates. I sense danger like seals off Dyer Island in South Africa, white sharks are lurking nearby. My stomach starts to churn. I worry. The picturesque Swiss countryside zooms by at 35 miles per hour. That's how fast these insanely fit men tackle the Tour de France mountain stages. They are in the Swiss Alps for Christ's sake, some of the steepest mountains in the world. I'm am in awe as I watch. I can only stretch out my 44 year old back on the sofa and dream of such things.

The day's breakaway of riders is caught at the bottom of the nastiest climb to the ski resort, Verbier. I watch Alberto Contador look at faces of the few remaining competitors. I know what is about to happen. I saw Lance do the same thing six years earlier. Contador was looking into the eyes of his combatants and challenging their greatness (read: manhood). I knew then, at that very nanosecond, it was over. Contador turned forward and faced the alpine mountain, his only competitor, took a deep breath and said, "It's just you and me." And then it was over. Alberto Contador's 25 year old legs accelerated as if going downhill.

Lance had nothing. I was depressed. Ten minutes later, the race was over. Lance finished ninth on the day and sat in second for the Tour. A truly remarkable achievement, but not what I hoped. Not the way I needed it to end. What? Not the way I needed it? I didn't race. Hell, I'm not even in Europe. But, I'll explain

Many times in my life I have tried to explain sport and how it symbolized a man's life in microcosm. I'm not sure if my argument ever bore any fruit to any of my audience, but the parallel holds true for me. The battle on the field or on the race course exemplifies the journey of a man's life, it's life in microcosm. The championships are too glorious and and the failures much too foreboding. Sometimes, I catch myself living through sport, pinning hopes on great seasons or routing the evil enemy. And in the end, always falling short of perfection. In sport, there is only one champion each season and everyone else loses. Kinda cruel, like life, but if you don't play, you can't win. This is how I pursue life.

Anyway, back to Lance. He didn't have the legs to match the 25 year old. I saw the fire in his eyes turn to solemn acceptance. He was done. The championships are behind him. Lance slipped into Life's Autumn.

He may go fighting, kicking and scratching. Most champions do. Ali, Jordan, Emmitt Smith, Brett Farve, Greg Norman and Tom Watson in this year's British Open all tried to recapture youth. But Lance is through.

I went back to bed depressed. I slept most of the rest of the day. I needed Lance to prove it was possible to postpone the inevitable Autumn. It's not possible, I know this consciously. My life is in it's very late Summer, I feel it every day. It's sad. I pray I have the courage to admit and accept Autumn when it arrives. I can almost see it on the horizon. I can definitely smell it in the air.

LiveStrong

Al

Pick of the day(42-9-1)...Rockies